Rule of the Working Class
by Orangeblossom
Summary: 1st season; Bashir befriends a Dabo girl, and decides to fight for the workers' rights -- written *long* before Bar Association!


Rule of the Working Class

Doctor Bashir hated eating in the Replimat during "rush hour," but he hadn't been able to get away from the Infirmary sooner. At least he'd gotten a table all to himself—

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?" an unfamiliar voice asked him.

The doctor managed not to sigh as he looked up. "No, no one," he responded, pulling his tray in closer to make room. A woman with straight, light brown shoulder-length hair and wide-set gray eyes sat down across from him with her tray.

"Thank you," she said.

Mentally shaking himself, Bashir put on a pleasant smile. Feeling somewhat fatigued he simply put his charm on 'automatic' as he gave her a stock opening gambit. "By the way, I don't believe in eating with strangers." He held out a hand and introduced himself, "Julian Bashir."

She hesitated, then put down her fork to accept his hand. "Chydanio Rael," she answered with a cautious smile.

Suddenly he no longer felt tired any more. "What a fascinating smile!" he exclaimed.

"Please?" she asked.

"Your smile. It's a full grin on the right side, and not there at all on the left. It's as if you're saying to yourself, 'I've got a really bad feeling about this, but damn the photon torpedoes anyway!'"

Her half-smile widened on the grin side but she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Do I get to eat at some point, or do you have other immediate plans for my hand?"

He released her hand. "Not immediately, no."

She picked up her fork and started eating. Bashir continued to gaze at her, noting her unadorned, sand-colored tunic, her regular features — he might have thought her plain, if her mysterious half-smile hadn't made him look twice and see that, although she wasn't conventionally pretty, she nevertheless possessed a loveliness all her own.

She noticed his stare and remarked, "I thought we agreed you were going to let me eat."

"Right. Absolutely."

"Then are you finished eating?"

"I'm feasting on the sight of you," he declared gallantly.

She rolled her eyes. "Who _are_ you?" she asked, bemused but clearly intrigued.

"Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer."

"Is that supposed to explain that little outburst?" she asked.

"No; _you're_ the explanation."

"You mean my smile."

"Well, everything about you, really. You wear no makeup or jewelry or flashy clothing. You don't hide behind _things_; what I see is really, honestly you."

"You don't even know me," she snorted.

"I'd _like_ to get to know you."

"So you've made that decision about me already?"

"There's no artifice about you, Chydanio. I'd say that makes you a person worth getting to know."

She gave him an undecipherable look for a long moment. "I'll tell you what, Julian," she suggested finally. "Why don't you let me finish my food, and we'll meet later. Say, at the Dabo table at Quark's, the one nearest the bar."

"What time?" he asked, smiling.

"Around—2200?"

"That sounds just fine." He arose and picked up his tray. "I've got to get back to the infirmary. I'll see you at 2200, Chydanio."

She nodded, smiling pleasantly until he had his back to her. Then, pensive, she stared at her food for a few minutes before returning to her meal once again.

* * *

Bashir entered Quark's a little before 2200 and found a seat at the Dabo table nearest the bar. He didn't see Chydanio yet, but there was plenty to hold his interest. In all his time stationed on DS9 he had never yet played Dabo, and wasn't even quite sure of the rules of the game.

A sharp-eyed Ferengi seemed to be the one actually controlling the wheel, while three 'assistants,' two female and one male, made sure the players were encouraged to place as large a bet as possible by whispers in ears, hands caressing arms and shoulders, even an occasional nuzzle. And many of the players responded in kind.

As betting was declared closed, Bashir leaned forward, trying to keep his eye on the elaborate wheel as it was spun.

"Can I help you, 'fleeter?" a low, smoky voice asked in his ear.

Bashir started to straighten, but felt feminine curves press against his back and shoulders as he did so. He decided to stay bent over the board.

"Ah— I'm waiting for someone, thank you."

"Then I think your wait is over," she teased him, running a long-nailed finger slowly around his ear.

"Ma'am—" he began.

"'Ma'am'?" she giggled throatily. "Oh, please!" She slipped into the seat next to him. "Call me Stardust." She leaned forward and smiled at him, trying to catch his eye. "What may I call you, 'fleeter?"

Bashir cleared his throat, then looked at his companion. Her dark blonde hair was elaborately curled on top of her head and streaked with metallic gold. Artfully applied lines of lavender and blue highlighted the curves of her eyebrows, cheekbones and chin, making her deep, deep blue eyes look almost electric. Crimson lips matched the fingernails tapping lightly on his forearm. She smelled like some exotic variety of midnight. And her black dress, filmy and clinging at the same time, sparkled maddeningly, threatening to flash a different piece of flesh every time she moved.

She was, quite simply, overpoweringly attractive.

"Stardust. I'm— Doctor Bashir," he managed when he'd caught his breath.

"Doctor Bashir," she purred as he glimpsed the top of a breast before her dress blinded him. "How delightful! Tell me, Doctor, how would you diagnose this game?"

"Uh—" He forced his eyes back to the table, where bets were being placed for a new game. "I'm not quite sure—"

Her hand moved to his wrist, and her fingertips slipped under both his sleeves, tickling the hairs on his arm. "If you have any questions, Doctor? I'm at your service."

"Actually, I—" Bashir looked back at her, flustered, and she smiled at him. His mouth dropped open. He'd seen that half-smile just that afternoon on— "Chydanio?" he asked in a whisper, unable to believe his eyes.

She pressed a finger against his lips. "_Stardust_," she reminded him in a whisper. Then, in a conversationally seductive tone, she asked, "Will you place a bet, Doctor? It's the best way to learn the game. And then, as they say, the tables aren't the only playing field." She straightened, seeing he'd regained his composure, and fixed him with teasing midnight-blue eyes. "Or, if you buy me a drink, Quark won't mind your not placing a wager. And if you buy time in a holosuite, he won't mind if he doesn't see me for the rest of the evening."

"What if I buy the two of you a drink?" he offered.

"Me and Quark?" she asked, puzzled.

"Stardust and Chydanio," he answered, and they both laughed, leaving the gaming area to order drinks in the main bar.

Bashir took a sip before he observed, "You know, you're very striking, even without cosmetic enhancements."

She arched an eyebrow at him over the rim of her glass. "Was that some sort of compliment?"

"If you weren't sure, then let me rephrase. I think that you have an incredible, natural beauty. Why do you go out of your way to obscure it?"

She shrugged. "Job requirement."

"It's quite a job!"

"It's not like I had a lot of choice, Julian," she stated defensively. "There aren't many options on non-aligned worlds, and I've got family back home."

Bashir put down his drink. "I understand. I didn't mean to be insensitive," he said hastily, but she went on,

"Do you think I'd _choose_ to leave my home, my kid sister, to come all the way out to the backside of nowhere to work Dabo tables, and put up with the leers and innuendo and hands and propositions if there'd been a real _choice_?"

"No, of course not," he assured her.

"I wonder if you really do understand, Julian, what a person is driven to, not just to survive, but to keep someone else from having to make the same life decisions you have." Unable to help herself she continued, "I wish this job paid better. I wish I was an employee with a steady wage, instead of an independent worker paying Quark for the privilege of using his Dabo tables to 'ply my trade.' And may the best hip wiggler make the best tips! I wish I could keep a little more of my dignity about me when I work, but wishing won't make any of it so."

"Isn't there anything the Federation can do to help?"

Startled by his naivete, she half-smiled, amused. "You don't look like much of a legal advocate."

"Try me," he proposed confidently. "I can do anything I put my mind to."

"I'm sure you think you can. But no one — Human, Vulcan, Cardassian, Klingon — no one, has ever broken a Ferengi-written contract. An EPS conduit leaks radiation from every jointure compared to one of their contracts, it's that airtight."

"I refuse to believe something can't be done to better your situation. I'll start working on it first thing tomorrow."

"You're very sweet, Julian." She got up to leave. "Good night."

"Wait!" Bashir fumbled with latinum strips, trying to figure out a tip that wouldn't get Chydanio in trouble, then raced after her.

He stepped in front of her to cut her off. "Chydanio, why did you leave like that?" he asked.

She looked at him, defiant. "The people who meet Stardust first aren't terribly taken with Chydanio. And the people who meet Chydanio first — are appalled by Stardust. I was just saving you some trouble."

He returned her look calmly. "You seem to be asking me to choose. But aren't they both you?"

She tilted her head, appraising him. Finally she said, "In a way, yes. A part of me enjoys dressing up and playing the temptress — making men squirm is such fun sometimes." Her expression was more teasing than challenging, and he had the grace to look embarrassed.

"You know, we all play roles in our lives, Chydanio, and different parts of our personalities manifest themselves when we play those different roles," he told her.

She nodded, admitting, "Stardust is just a role I play, it's my job. And it's a relief that at the end of my shift I can go back to being plain old Chydanio." She looked thoughtful. "But there _is_ a part of Chydanio in Stardust, too."

Bashir smiled at her and offered, "I could tell you a story about a man who studied multi-species medicine and became a doctor."

"I'd like to hear it."

"This man took a great interest in people, and wanted to help them. But there was also a side to him, selfish, he supposed, but there nonetheless, that wanted to explore the stars and be where there were no limits, even to his imagination, where things would be so new and different. So this doctor, eminently practical, good with people and with medicine, joined Starfleet. And he practices medicine out on the edge of a new frontier. And they call him 'Doctor,' and that _is_ his job, but he still has the heart of an explorer."

She half-smiled. "Was that a bedtime story, Julian?"

He gave her a half-smile of his own and backed it up with his intent dark eyes. "Would you like it to be?"

Chydanio returned his gaze steadily, then held out her hand to him. He took it. She wrapped his arm around her waist and they started walking towards the Habitat Ring.

* * *

The next day after the morning staff meeting, Bashir sat in the Commander's office explaining to Sisko and Major Kira what he'd found out about the working conditions of the Dabo workers.

Kira and Sisko traded glances, and Bashir, guessing they were hedging, challenged, "Are you telling me that the Ferengi are only answerable to themselves no matter where they set up shop?"

"No," Sisko said carefully. "Obviously this is an outpost under joint Federation and Bajoran jurisdiction. But unfortunately there are no labor laws that govern—"

"Flesh peddling? Lap dancing? Bump and grind?" Bashir demanded. "You know what's going on here — it's exploitation! These people are being _used_! They deserve better!"

"Doctor, there's no reason to raise your voice. Believe me, we _know_ what's going on here," Kira told him, her voice sharp with reprimand. "I was here during the Occupation, remember? Even before the Federation arrived, the Ferengi operated under a law unto themselves. The best Cardassian legal minds couldn't crack a Ferengi contract. _They gave up_. During the war, during martial law, when the Cardassians were doing exactly what they pleased with the Bajora, the Ferengi went on with business as usual. And there was nothing the Cardassians or the Bajora could do about working conditions, profit percentages, _anything_!"

She fixed her dark eyes on him, leaning forward intently. "I see the Dabo workers every day, Doctor. I know their working conditions. They are being used. They do deserve better. And it's obviously, manifestly unjust. But it's _legal_."

Bashir took a deep breath to steady himself but it was Sisko who spoke.

"Ferengi labor law has been an ongoing concern of the Federation Council on Jurisprudence ever since our first encounter with them," the commander said as he steepled his fingers in front of him. "But 'Byzantine' doesn't even begin to describe the state of legal affairs between the Ferengi and the other Federation worlds. They even have a separate set of laws governing transactions with non-Ferengi that _contradicts_ in large part their laws governing transactions between themselves." He regarded the younger man. "But, if you want to jump in and try to straighten it out single-handedly, you're certainly welcome to try, Doctor."

"Then I'd like to see the proceedings of the Federation Council on this matter as a start, Commander," Bashir said.

"Major, get him a feed to the nearest Memory Prime relay station."

"My pleasure, Commander," she acknowledged, rising to leave.

Bashir looked at Kira, startled not to hear her usual, neutral 'Aye, sir,' but he told Sisko, "Thank you, sir," and followed her out of Sisko's office.

"Uh, Major—" he said, hurrying to keep up with Kira's long-legged strides.

"Yes?" She stopped abruptly and turned to face him.

"Major, back there in Commander Sisko's office—" He tried to figure out what he was asking, finally blurting, "We don't usually see eye-to-eye, on _anything_. You even took me to task for assuming I was the only person who wanted to help the Dabo workers — which I deserved," he admitted candidly, "—but you...sounded like you _wanted_ to help me with my research."

"That's because I _do_ want to help you," she told him. "No one wants to see the Ferengi taken down more than I do."

"Especially a certain Ferengi," he intuited suddenly.

She nodded, conceding his inference. "And, I know that once your mind's made up, you don't fool around and you see it through. Some people see that kind of confidence as ego." Her dark eyes glinted with frank humor as she went on, "_I_ did when I first met you. Though since then, I've discovered that standing in your way would be as futile as a Cardassian vole trying to stop a Vulcan sehlat." She assured him solemnly, "I'll give you all the help I can, Julian."

* * *

After conducting physicals on the crew of the freighter _Cixous_, Bashir headed for Quark's to confront its proprietor.

When Quark heard what the physician was trying to do, however, the Ferengi simply laughed at him. "Go ahead, ask any of them," he challenged, gesturing around the bar. "They _like_ their freedom. They don't want to be my employees, working by the hour, being told what they can and can't do. Why do you think they _choose_ this kind of work? They want to be independent workers and I provide a place where — for a fee — they can ply their talents and get paid for it."

"Their _talents_?"

Quark looked ingenuous. "You know, certain traits you're born with. For instance," he reasoned, "you were born with high intelligence plus a capacity for caring and certain problem-solving tendencies that contributed to your becoming the first rate doctor you are now, correct?"

Bashir had to concede, "Yes."

"So what's the difference between being born with that, and being born — lovely?"

"Lovely? Lovely's a talent?" Bashir exclaimed.

"Not everyone is born with good looks, much less knows how to use them to their advantage. Now, take yourself, a rather handsome specimen as Humans go. You use that to get the ladies, don't you?" Quark spread his hands palm up and grinned at him in conspiracy. "I do the same, believe me! But I also use my good looks for business purposes, to intrigue a new client, to allay certain — misgivings, to seal a deal. _I_ know how to _use_ my appearance, whereas you have a very limited idea of what yours could do for you. I mean, do you even raise a finger to exploit your looks and make some profit? It's an absolute waste." Quark shook his head in true disgust. "No, the Dabo workers are different. Lookers all, but they use it to their advantage.

"And why would I try to regulate something as unique as a Dabo worker's independent, entrepreneurial spirit?" the Ferengi argued, almost sounding reasonable. "Their income depends entirely on the consensual business relationship they create between themselves and the patrons. Who am I to tell them what to do, how to do it, how long to do it, where to do it? Believe me, they're not being exploited, they're the canniest operators on the whole station!"

"They're being exploited by _you_, Quark, and no amount of double-talk is going to change that," Bashir retorted.

"You seem to have already made up your mind about me, Doctor. Not the best attitude with which to pursue justice— have you been taking lessons from Odo?" Quark shook his head dismissively. "No matter. My good name will be cleared and then you, Doctor, will no longer have the privilege of drinks on the house."

"I've _never_ had a drink on the house!" he protested, surprised.

"Were I to choose to implement a free drinks plan, you would not be among the recipients of my beneficence." The Ferengi raised a finger in warning. "Just remember, Doctor, that actions such as you are undertaking have consequences as adverse as that."

"_You_ remember that, Quark," Bashir countered, matching the Ferengi's warning with his own. "Each action will have its consequence."

* * *

"Julian!"

The doctor looked up from the computer display in the Infirmary. "In here," he called, and grinned when he saw who came through the door. "Chydanio!" he greeted. "What are you doing up so late?"

"The Stardust part of me got off work about half an hour ago. I changed into Chydanio—" She indicated her loose, plain clothing, "—and went looking for you. When you weren't in your quarters I thought I'd try here." She perched on the edge of a console. "What are you up to?"

"Exactly what I said I would be. I'm trying to find a way to make your working conditions better. I got through to one of the Federation's Memory Prime database relays and I'm—"

Chydanio suddenly leaned forward and kissed him warmly.

"Well, say...!" Bashir stood and pulled her close. They kissed long and properly. "Now what exactly was that first kiss for?" he asked, touching his nose to hers fondly.

"For being as good as your word." Her smile faded as she explained, "I got a dispatch from my sister, Amartassa, today. They're closing down the processing plant in her region, there's no more work. Quark's agents have been recruiting and she's coming to join me here."

"Oh, Chydanio...this isn't what you wanted for your sister at all," he sympathized softly, caressing her cheek with a finger.

She turned her head and kissed his hand, then looked deep into his eyes. "No, but since I have no control over that, at least I can make it as good for her as possible." She half-smiled at him. "With your help."

He nodded. "With my help," Bashir promised.

"I know you've only been working on this for a little while, but have you come up with anything?"

He sat back down and accessed a file. "Well, I've examined the standard Dabo worker contract, and I've been cross-referencing through what I found in the Memory Prime information dump. I think I've narrowed it down to forty-five criteria that need to be met if a person is considered an employee of the Ferengi and is entitled to certain benefits—"

"Forty-five?" Chydanio echoed faintly. "Tell me that's good."

"It's better than the 3,692 criteria by which all non-Ferengi—"

"Forty-five's good," she conceded quickly, scanning the screen. "How'd you get this far in just one day?"

"It reminded me of some work I did during my residency. So what I've been doing is treating the problem as if it was a disease and trying to figure out its epidemiology."

She looked at him with admiration. "I think your not being a legal advocate is working to your advantage."

"Perhaps. The proof will be, of course, if anything changes for you."

The doctor accessed another file and, pointing something out to her, said, "There's a seldom-referenced Ferengi edict that states that, if a contract says one thing, but the practice of the Ferengi and the worker is otherwise, then the contract is not controlling, the practice is. The edict was originally written to protect Ferengi interests, but it might work to our advantage. So, I've gone through your contract. Now tell me what it is that Quark actually requires of you."

"I'm not sure what you're looking for, Julian."

"Well..." He consulted the compadd on the desk. "For instance, some of the criteria for determining if you're employed by the Ferengi, as opposed to independently working at one of their sites, include instructions, training, rate of pay, right to discharge, significant investment, continuing relationship, required materials including tools and—" Bashir interrupted himself and regarded Chydanio quizzically. "Didn't you say something before to me about a job requirement?"

"If I was talking about my job, we must have been at Quark's. We, ah, didn't do much talking after we left the Promenade last night."

Bashir cleared his throat self-consciously, then shot a glance at her from under lowered lids that made her blush.

She pretended to fan herself. "Too bad there's no time to follow up on that!"

He covered her hand with his. "Not now, anyway."

Her gray eyes became abstracted as she tried to reconstruct their conversation. "It wasn't while we were at the Dabo table. We got drinks..."

Bashir remembered, "I asked why you were so heavily made up—"

"And I said it was a job requirement—"

"Wait a minute." The doctor leaned forward eagerly. "So what you were saying was that Quark _requires_ you to dress a certain way, behave a certain way—"

"Yes. It's not specifically in my contract, but you can be dismissed—"

"Then you are an _employee_ of Quark's, and he owes you wages and benefits! He can't make you pay a fee for the privilege of working the Dabo tables and pretend you're independent of him when he requires of you certain behaviors in order to continue to work there! He has _control_ over you!"

"I don't dare hope this is it, Julian— can it be that easy?" she asked anxiously.

"Well, it's not going to _be_ easy, we've got those forty-five criteria, too, but at least we can work with this!" He pulled out a chair for her. "We've got a lot to do before I take this to Commander Sisko and Major Kira."

* * *

Armed with Chydanio's list of the Dabo workers she thought would make good witnesses, Bashir was about to take a walk the next day through the Habitat Ring to interview them when Quark walked into the Infirmary.

"Quark! Something contagious?" Bashir asked pleasantly. "I'm sure one of the nurses can help isolate you, I was just on my way—"

The Ferengi ignored the doctor's attempts at insult and said smoothly, "Before you go, this might save you some time and trouble."

Bashir looked at the compadd Quark handed to him. "What's this?"

"Sworn affidavits from all of the Dabo workers. With thumbprint confirmation and witnessed neutrally, stating that they are happy with their working conditions and don't wish them changed because of one disgruntled girl," Quark said smugly.

Bashir quickly scrolled through the padd. "All these affidavits have the same exact language!"

"Ensuring that there is no misunderstanding."

The doctor pointed the padd at Quark. "You put them up to this. Coerced them, threatened them in order to get them to sign! This means nothing!"

"Have you proof of one single coercion, one single threat? Of course not," Quark answered his own question, grinning. "I trust this puts an end to your— investigation, did you call it? Good day, Doctor Bashir."

Bashir watched the Ferengi leave, inwardly fuming, angry at himself for finding time for extension courses in everything _but_ jurisprudence. He threw the compadd hard against a diagnostic bed. "Damn!"

One of the nurses poked his head into the Infirmary at the noise. "Doctor?"

"Nothing, Nurse. Just— frustrated, that's all."

"Uh, yes, Doctor." As Bashir folded his arms across his chest and began to pace, the nurse ventured, "Doctor? There's a patient here asking specifically to see you. If you want him to come back—"

"What?" Bashir switched gears quickly. "No, send him in. Thank you, Nurse."

A tall man with long brown hair, distinctive facial plates and rugged good looks came in. "Doctor Bashir?" he asked.

He looked familiar, but Bashir couldn't quite place him. "Yes. Please, have a seat. What seems to be the problem?"

"This will only take a moment, Doctor. I just need something removed."

Bashir frowned at him. "Something—"

The man opened his hand slightly, and Bashir saw a piece of paper scrunched into his palm. He looked at the man again, and realized he worked the same Dabo table as Stardust.

"Let me take a look at that," the doctor said. They walked over to where Bashir kept his instruments. Excited that he would be putting some of Garak's lessons in subterfuge to good use, Bashir briskly ran a tricorder over the man's hand and then, just before he closed the device, slipped the paper into it.

"It feels much better, Doctor. Thank you." The tall man exited quickly.

Casually pretending to tinker with the tricorder, Bashir extracted the piece of paper, smoothed it out and quickly propped several medical scanners to hide the message as he read it:

"Do not believe everything with a thumbprint attached.

Stardust does not stand alone."

* * *

Sisko looked at Kira after he'd reviewed Bashir's report. "Now why did I doubt him for even a second?" he asked the Bajoran major, then flashed a grin at the physician.

Kira looked at Bashir proudly, even though she had yet to read the brief. "I knew you'd do it, Doctor."

Bashir straightened at their praise but tried not to get carried away by it. "I'm wondering if you could help me with the next step," he asked. "I need some sort of hearing or venue where I can convince Quark of my findings and then make sure he follows through."

"But the Federation hasn't sent a Judge Advocate General officer to this sector yet," Sisko said.

"Yes, but are there any other possibilities?"

Kira looked thoughtful. "Bajoran courts can't help," she finally said. "Since we can't even decide if we want to join the Federation, we haven't decided if we need to codify procedures for handling disputes between Bajoran and non-Bajoran. But I _have_ been reading about 'interventions.' They're being used by the Federation when it isn't possible to hold a full-scale hearing, but the results are just as binding."

Sisko frowned. "I remember reading something about that, too, and thinking that this station would be a prime candidate to use them until we get a JAG officer of our own."

"That was my thinking as well, Commander, which is why I became interested in learning about the process," Kira explained.

"I meant to research interventions before we needed to implement them, but—" Sisko shrugged. "I guess I should never put off until tomorrow what I could have done three weeks ago. But I suppose if I do procrastinate, my first officer will already have taken care of whatever it was I was avoiding," he gently teased Kira. "Okay, Major, what do we need?"

She acknowledged his barb with a small smile, then said, "The ranking officer chooses one moderator to represent the home world for each party involved. Since Quark is Ferengi, one of the moderators should be Ferengi as well. Doctor, what planet is Chydanio Rael from?"

Bashir hesitated. "She's the only person from her planet on this station. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Is her world a member of the Federation?"

"No, it's non-aligned."

"Then someone from a similarly non-aligned world could be a moderator." She straightened and looked at Sisko. "Commander, Bajor is non-aligned. As the ranking Bajoran officer on this station, I'd like to be one of the moderators," Kira stated formally.

"It's a good thing you didn't read the report yet. Your offer is accepted, Major." Sisko sat lost in thought for a moment. "If I were to choose a Ferengi I'd trust to have even half a brain in his head, it'd be Quark. But he can't moderate for himself. Quite frankly, I don't hold out much hope for the next Ferengi in line, whoever he is."

Kira shrugged. "I'll contact Rom, then. Doctor, you can be present at the intervention but you can't represent Ms. Rael; she's going to have to argue her case herself."

Sisko inquired, "If I set the intervention for tomorrow at 1300 hours, is that enough time for you to prep her, Doctor?"

"It should be," Bashir said.

"Good." Sisko looked at them both. "You can have the conference room at 1300 hours tomorrow."

* * *

"Now what exactly does an intervention involve?" Quark asked suspiciously as he paced the length of the conference room.

"In an intervention, each party experiencing differences can state their side of the issue to the moderators, who will hear all statements and then, with the moderators' help, the parties will come to a satisfactory agreement," Kira explained.

"Modera_tors_," Quark pointed out. "Who's the other moderator?"

The conference room door opened and a protesting Rom was dragged in by the elbow by Doctor Bashir.

"Brother!" Rom squeaked at Quark. "I— I—"

"What's the meaning of this?" Quark demanded, both of Rom and of Kira.

As Rom made ineffectual gestures that seemed to indicate that Bashir had done everything but phaser him on stun to get him to appear at the intervention, Kira clarified, "Each party has a representative moderator. I'm here because Ms. Rael's world and mine are non-aligned. Rom's here because you're both Ferengi."

Quark leaned close to Kira. "You and I both know I'd be better off without a moderator at all than to have Rom here," he said in a low voice.

The major gave him a smile with no sympathy in it. "I know, but we're going by the book, Quark."

"The book shouldn't stand in the way of common sense!"

"Is that yet _another_ Rule of Acquisition?"

Quark turned away and muttered, "No, but it should be."

The door opened again and everyone stared, stunned, at the person standing in the doorway.

Rom's mouth dropped open and he looked like someone had hit him over the head. Quark swallowed and ran a finger around his suddenly too-tight collar. Kira, who had been expecting someone else, recognized the ploy and grinned. And Bashir, who had wanted Chydanio to play it straight, saw now by the Ferengis' reactions that she'd been absolutely right to have Stardust argue the case.

He winked at her.

Stardust winked back and undulated slowly into the room. The door closed behind her.

Twenty minutes later Rom and Quark walked out in a daze. "If you give them wages and benefits, it's a better profit, Brother!" Rom repeated again.

"I just don't know why I didn't see it before," Quark said, disbelieving. "It's so simple!"

Back in the conference room, Major Kira looked from Chydanio to Bashir. "Your arguments were legally convincing and your ruse with the costume kept Quark from raising any protest. But the best part of this is that Quark was taken down by the very thing he's been exploiting," she said with a grin.

"I _did_ warn him that every action has its consequence," Bashir told them. "But I don't think even he knew how prophetic he'd been when he told me that Dabo workers knew exactly how to use their good looks to their own advantage."

Kira held up an information crystal. "Well, it's all here, legal and binding. I'll route it through the proper channels right away. Congratulations."

Chydanio smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much, Major."

"Thank _you_, Ms. Rael. It took you to set everything in motion." Kira looked at Bashir, complimenting with genuine admiration, "Good job, Doctor."

"Thanks, Major. That means a lot." He and Chydanio watched as Kira strode out of the conference room, then Bashir turned to the Dabo girl. "So whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he asked with a smile.

She gave him a mischievous grin. "All of us, Julian, we all thank you — me, the Dabo workers, and especially Amartassa." She looked at him more soberly. "I couldn't have done it without you. How can I ever thank you enough?"

Bashir shrugged. "It was all in a day's work, really." He ticked off on his fingers, "Save a few lives, cure a few incurable diseases, set a few legal precedents, put an end to a few wars, solve a few—"

She was about to tell him to stop being insufferable, then decided she could shut him up more effectively by simply kissing him — as he'd hoped she would.

* * *

Bashir watched the shuttle passengers disembark and wondered if he could pick out Chydanio's sister, when a towheaded teenager stepped through the airlock with all the swagger of someone thinking she was impersonating an experienced spacer.

"Let me guess," Bashir teased Chydanio. She elbowed him before she walked forward to the airlock.

Amartassa, at the sight of Chydanio, dropped her pose and launched herself at her older sister, not bothering with the steps. Bashir came up from behind and kept the two of them from losing their balance, then politely stepped back.

"Ohhhh, baby, it's good to see you," Chydanio murmured into her sister's hair.

Amartassa stepped back, outraged. "I'm not a baby, Dani!"

Chydanio gazed at her sibling warmly, discovering that they were both the same height now. "No, you're not, Tassa." She turned. "I'd like to you meet Julian Bashir. He's the station's chief medical officer and my good friend. Julian, Amartassa Rael, my not-so-little sister."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. Rael. Welcome to DS9," Bashir greeted.

Ms. Rael seemed to like her new title and straightened proudly. "Thank you. I'm pleased to be here."

They collected her bags and started walking through the Promenade to the Habitat Ring. "First we'll get you settled in," Chydanio said, "then we'll enroll you in school—"

"_School_?" Amartassa demanded, aghast.

"School," Chydanio said firmly.

"There are several people on the station your age," Bashir informed. "There's the station commander's son, Jake Sisko..."

"Did you hear someone say your name?" Nog asked Jake suddenly as they both sat, legs dangling, on the walkway above the Promenade.

"I thought I did—" They checked out the people passing beneath them, and both gasped as they caught sight of the young blonde walking between the doctor and the Dabo girl.

A bit of their conversation floated up to the Human and Ferengi teenagers. "...and you'll like Mrs. O'Brien, Tassa, she's very..."

"I think my lobes are going to explode," Nog moaned.

Jake breathed, "Tassa, huh...?"

FIN


End file.
